


And then the fall

by EgoDominusTuus



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: After the Fall, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, F/F, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, longfic, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus
Summary: After the fall, Will and Hannibal have to navigate their new life together. Friends and enemies alike exist to make sure that they never forget who they were and what they've done.--aka: murderhusbands // In which the author shotgunned Hannibal and wants a Season Four now.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 30





	1. a separation of three

**Author's Note:**

> Look... I'm honestly not 100% sure where I'm going with this. But I know that I needed it and I have quite a few ideas kicking around in my head. Suggestions appreciated, I will be poking this frequently because I have Murder Husbands on the mind.

Life came in three sections: before meeting Hannibal, after meeting Hannibal, and after the fall.

There was no other timeline to the world around Will Graham than these defining points. 

He wasn't sure if the break in his realities was from Hannibal's influence, from his own mental state, or from some strange mixture of the two... but there was no way to rejoin the times; he couldn't close his eyes and watch the memories in perfect fluidity -- they existed within dissonance. There was before meeting Hannibal, and then a moment of static darkness that was _nothing_ in a long, broken line of his mind slowly collapsing in on itself.

And then there was _after_ the meeting. The wild exhilaration of discovery and possibility -- the invariable and nearly inevitable betrayal in learning who Hannibal was and what Hannibal had _done_ _to him..._ and the scorching heat that was a mixture of his drive for revenge and his attempt to press down his _desire_ all in one desperate breath. 

There was the chase -- the thrill of the chase -- the suit that he put on to fool Hannibal that fit him all too well, whose zipper seemed to stick when he tried to remove it.

And then the _Becoming._ The realization that there was a choice to be made; a singular choice that would split into an infinite amount of possibility.

In the end, he chose Hannibal. 

As he knew he always would.

As it seemed he always _had to._

There was that moment on the cliff, in the house, when Hannibal bled and the bottle shattered this time instead of a teacup; in that instant, there was a part of him that knew that Will Graham had died. In a sense, Francis Dolarhyde had accomplished his goal, after all.

 _Will had been transformed._ There was no going back, no other possibility than to _be_. 

And to be with Hannibal.

And then there was _the fall._


	2. .one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes with a decision to be made.

Will Graham woke first. Hannibal had obviously been awake before, because their wounds were tended to with a surgical precision that only the doctor could have accomplished sans hospital.

He wasn't awake now. He was lying beside him on a large bed, his shirt off and his torso carefully wrapped in a clean white bandage. From the way their cuts and bruises had started to heal, Will could juxtapose that at least a few days had passed since he'd last been awake. 

It still hurt to move -- everything in his body was one solid ache.

"Like I'd been thrown off a cliff," he murmured the words softly under his breath, his eyes alert for whether the utterance would make the man beside him stir.

Hannibal didn't move. His chest shifted in an even rise and fall, but his lashes didn't flutter at the noise. Will turned onto his side with a low groan and rose his hand; the motion was cautious, his fingers a near tremble as they hovered in the air. The heat radiating off of Hannibal's body wasn't overly warm. He didn't have a fever. 

He'd obviously done a good job in treating them both, because Will didn't feel ill, either. But...

He let his digits drop slowly, splayed and careful against Hannibal's skin. The heartbeat there was thick and steady and slow, though it picked up a fraction at the touch.

But his eyes didn't open.

A soft sound escaped his throat, and he pushed himself up in the sheets, only slightly aware of the fact that he was also without a shirt. His hand stayed where it was, firmly planted on Hannibal's chest as though it could somehow anchor him to a reality that didn't seem plausible, given the damage that they'd taken and the fall that they'd suffered. He didn't know where they were -- he couldn't identify the area from the small glimpse of the outside world that he could spy through the window.

Will wasn't sure what was going on, more than to know that they weren't dead since he was still aching and injured. Whatever the afterlife was, he was fairly certain that it wouldn't deal in things that trivial. 

He pushed the covers back more, relieved to find that he at least had a dark pair of briefs on. He didn't mind the lack of clothing, but there was something to be said for modesty, at least when you were in a strange location. He didn't _think_ that Hannibal would bring them to a place where there were people, but if Will had learned anything about the good doctor, it was the fact that you couldn't assume anything about his means and motives.

He was as silent as he could be when he stood, quieter still when he crept first to the dresser to rifle through it for something to wear. There were pants, though they were slightly large on him, it was better than nothing. The closet yielded carefully pressed white shirts; wherever they were, it was clear that it was a place that Hannibal had prepared, at least for himself. The style was distinct, and the scent that rolled off of the shirt as he buttoned it up was one that he was familiar with.

Hannibal would probably be fascinated with the fact that he could identify him by smell alone.

For a moment, he stood there -- his body still felt weak, his mouth achingly dry. If he and Hannibal had both been out for as long as Will thought, that wasn't a surprise. He lingered in the room for another moment, his eyes on the still-sleeping figure in the bed, and then drifted to the door. 

There was only a small part of him that wondered if the handle was going to be locked when he twisted it. It came open with silent and smooth ease, though, and something in his chest loosened.

There was no need for locks or keys -- he'd made his decision, somewhere between when he'd attacked Francis and when he'd gotten into the car with Hannibal after they'd initially escaped. A part of him knew that he'd made it before then; Will knew what was going to happen when he proposed the plan for Hannibal's escape.

He knew that he was going to stay, that he was staying of his own volition. Whatever manipulations Doctor Lecter had implemented throughout their relationship, Will was confident that this was a decision that he'd come to on his own.

That it was a decision that he'd invariably been careening toward since their very first meeting. 

It had always been this -- the cliff, the fall, and this house. He could have tried to run; now was probably one of the only times that the option would be vibable, and he knew it.

Instead, he tried to find a kitchen.

The only thing that shocked him was the sound of a gun cocking, and even that only trilled his senses for a moment when he realized where the sound had come from.

"Have you been watching him this entire time, Chiyoh?" Will's voice was careful, friendly. He kept moving, even though the end of her rifle tracked him for a few moments before lowering when she saw him pull two glasses from a cabinet. They were fine, crystal and delicate. Sophisticated. 

Something that Hannibal would choose, of course.

"I will always watch over him." Her voice was careful when she spoke, and Will took his time checking through the refrigerator before settling on the dispenser attached to the freezer to fill the glass. He drank his first cup slowly, carefully. He wasn't sure how his body would handle the moisture after so long without, and he didn't want to make himself ill. He could feel the chill of it slide down into an empty stomach, and the sparking burst of hunger that spilled through him when it sloshed around in his torso.

That was good. If he was hungry and thirsty, that meant that his body was well on the mend.

He shouldn't have been surprised, since it had been Doctor Lecter that had patched him up, but there was still a part of him that was met with the bright relief of awe that the man was so talented that he'd managed to do so with a gunshot wound.

He'd still managed to make sure that Will was okay, as he always had in his own, twisted way. There was no denying the fact that he did what he could to take care of him -- even when he was cutting him, gutting him, he'd made sure that the wound was clean and precise and something that _wouldn't_ kill him.

Even then.

The confusion that Will felt was only a slight thing. 

Everything about his relationship with Hannibal had been confusing from the beginning if he thought about it. Even before, when it shouldn't have been. There had been things going on in the background of it all that should have thrown a red flag immediately... but they'd spent so much time wronging one another that it shouldn't have surprised him that they still ended up like this.

There was no other way for it to have ever gone, as far as he could see.

Chiyoh was looking at him carefully as he shifted to the refrigerator, his cup still in his hand as he rifled around. There was a part of him that wanted to go and try to wake Hannibal, but a larger part of him had the urge to fend for himself. To, maybe, make sure that there was something for _Hannibal,_ if he did wake up.

He was feeling the desire to flee and the desire to be... domestic... all in one breath. It was strange for Will.

He settled on eggs. Out of everything, it was something that he was confident he could make without burning, and something that he was sure would at least be palatable if Hannibal did stir.

There was a brief hesitation over the home-packaged sausage that he found sitting on the shelf, but after a moment he pulled it out.

This was his life now -- he was completely aware that it had actually been his life for quite some time. 

There was no reason to shy away from it when it was the future that was laid out before him of his own design.

He'd started to cut it up and search around for some milk and butter when Chiyoh finally laid her gun down on the table and spoke in a soft cadence.

"You're staying with him, then?"

The question was actually a bit shocked, as though she couldn't believe the answer herself. Will looked up from what he was doing, and for a moment they simply stared at one another. After a second, he nodded. 

"I guess I am." 

It wasn't as though he could explain what was going on -- why he was doing it. _It was inevitable_ seemed too loose a phrase for it. Destiny was a bit much, as far as he was concerned.

It just...

Was.

And that was all that there was to it, as far as Will could see.


	3. .two

. _two -_

It wasn't sausage in any way or flavor that he'd had it (other than the times he'd been with Hannibal), so Will knew what he was putting into his mouth when he took a second bite of his breakfast. Chiyoh was giving him a very precarious look -- it was obvious that she knew exactly what kind of person Hannibal was... and in turn, what kind of person Will was. While there was a bit of confusion in her gaze, for the most part there was a mild level of relief; perhaps because she didn't have to find herself in line to kill another man who would threaten her loyalties to her family.

Instead, Will ate and put half of what he'd made into the refrigerator, wrapped poorly in plastic in a way that he was sure would make Hannibal wrinkle his nose in irritation.

It was better than nothing, though.

The entire situation was still a fuzzy haze in his head; he knew that he was here, and he was _fairly sure_ that he was here of his own volition. There had been so much manipulation that there was always going to be a small part of him that wondered if this was just another orchestration of Hannibal...

But Will had a feeling that Hannibal certainly hadn't _meant_ to get shot. He hadn't meant for them to both nearly die.

And he'd had no idea that Will was going to pull them over the cliff. Will hadn't even known, himself. It was one last act; either they would die together as monsters, or they would come out on the other side... more alive than ever. With his arms around Hannibal, he'd been content for either possibility. 

He was wondering what the doctor was going to have to say about that when he woke, but they were both still alive... so that had to count for something, right? The entirety of their relationship had been either trying to kill the other, so it shouldn't have been a new revelation.

He could see how someone looking from the outside might perceive their dynamic as more than just a little _wrong_... and honestly, Will was aware of it himself.

But more than problematic, it seemed inevitable to him. It was almost as though every piece of his life that had always seemed so inconsistent and broken was shattered for this exact moment -- for this exact person. Perhaps it was with blood and death, but Will could not deny that his obsession with Hannibal Lecter was truly one of the few things that actually made him feel _whole._

It wasn't necessarily _healthy, and_ he was aware of that fact... but it was what he had -- the _only_ thing he had. 

And he wasn't willing to let it go.

Chiyoh watched him warily as he drifted back to the bedroom where Hannibal still slept. He wasn't much of a doctor, but he knew enough to know that you at least checked bandages, that you made sure that they were fresh and clean and didn't need to be changed. The gauze was still laying beside the bed on the end table, so it wasn't something that he needed to search for. His own body was one long line of ache that begged him to lay back on the bed. His face burned where the knife had sliced through his skin... but...

His fingers were careful when he prodded at the edge of white wrapped around Hannibal's waist, and he smoothed his hand flat over the surface of it, where he knew a near fatal wound and existed beneath.

At the time -- before that shot -- he still hadn't been sure what he was going to do.

_You intend to watch him kill me?_

_I intend to watch him change you._

He'd been confused, then, too. He knew that there would be a fight -- and he knew that there would be a death. And he hadn't been sure which death it was that he wanted... until he'd seen Hannibal laying up there with eyes sharp and his mouth twisted only slightly. Until he'd realized that watching the light burning behind those hues snuffing out would take something inside him with it. 

He'd known then.

So it was no wonder that they'd both ended up like this.

The skin beneath his fingers felt warm through the bandages, but not too warm. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and with it a name caught in the back of his throat in a whisper.

"Hannibal."

But this time, the lids that had been closed fluttered open, and Will was fixed with a sharp gaze that bespoke of a man who hadn't been sleeping at all.

"I wondered if you meant to finish what you'd started, to kill me while I slept." Will's hand was still on his waist, a soft touch trailing the white fabric. Hannibal's eyes slid down to meet it. "It seems not."

"Uh..." Will shifted fingers to the edge of the bandage and pulled slightly, but Hannibal raised his own to catch his wrist. Where their skin touched was hot, startling contact. Will's body reacted -- as it always did -- immediately. Hannibal was one of the few people who touched him; he was nearly the only one who he _allowed_ to touch him. Even with Molly. There had been times when the nightmares were too much, when his sweat soaked and thrashing body had been forced to the spare bedroom, or out to sleep on his boat, because he didn't want her to see what a mess he still was.

Day in and day out.

The broken pieces in him hadn't healed right -- the edges were ragged and frayed.

But this touch was different -- even at his wrist, it struck somewhere deep inside him, and Will felt the subtle shift of Hannibal's fingers, digits sliding over the thrum at his wrist, so he could count the speeding, thundering beat of his heart at his pulse. 

He looked up at him with earnest eyes, curious eyes. "I wasn't sure if you meant to kill us when we went over the cliff, but I knew that you meant for us to go together."

"I don't know what I wanted." Will managed to pull away then, turn his back so that he could gather the gauze into his fingers as though he knew how to use it. "It doesn't matter. I made breakfast."

Hannibal's nose twitched, his lips curling just slightly at the scent that hit him. "It smells like you overcooked the eggs."

Will let out the smallest of laughs at Hannibal, ever the character, even laying bandaged in bed -- astute, distinguished. Of course, he could tell even from in here. "I probably did."

"And you used the meat in the refrigerator, it seems." When Will looked back of his shoulder, Hannibal's eyes were keen. He licked his lips for a moment and then nodded. 

"Yes."

That admission held more weight than it should have -- it was, perhaps, maybe more telling than anything else that he'd done.

"You realize that was not pork?" 

"I know."

"But you had some, too?" Hannibal's voice was a question, but Will was sure that he already knew the answer. He'd probably smelled it on his breath when he'd been standing over him. 

Still, Will nodded in ascent. "Gotta eat, right?"

"Gotta eat, indeed." He used Will's inflection of speech, and then pushed himself carefully into a sitting position on the bed with a careful motion that only made him wince for a moment. "We are lucky, you and I, that Chiyoh found us. I don't know if I could have made it here alone." 

There was a beat -- a pause where breath filled the room and Will wasn't sure what to do with the silence between them. Finally, he glanced down to the gauze and brought it over, offered it to Hannibal who shook his head. 

"I'm sure you would have found a way," Will's mouth flickered into a smile that was half rueful and slightly affectionate. He was certain that Hannibal picked up on the latter as opposed to the former, because his own lips lilted into a grin. 

Will's body was aching -- he'd been doing too much too quickly, but the only place that he could actually _sit_ was on the bed with Hannibal.

He didn't know if he wanted to do that. Will had never been so sure of a decision and so _unsure_ on how to follow through with it in his life. Instead, he stood awkwardly, unraveling and rewrapping the white cloth that Hannibal obviously didn't need to use. He'd probably just changed it before he woke. 

Finally, though, Hannibal broke the silence for him -- it was only a slight relief. "Will..?" 

He tensed at his name, and it made his body ache all the more. The only thing that he could do was move until he could lean against the wall -- it only brought him a bit of relief, but it was better than nothing. Only once he was there did he look up through his curling bangs to the man still laying on the bed. 

"Yes?" It almost hurt to answer -- because it seemed like this moment was going to be important. 

"Do you truly intend to stay this time?" He paused, and then added for clarification, "With me?" 

He swallowed hard -- Chiyoh had asked him this and the answer had been easy enough to give. It was different, though, this confession to Hannibal. His eyes were scrutinizing, his facial expression blank. Will knew that it was because he'd been lied to before, betrayed before.

Will had shattered everything once.

But now...

"Where else would I go?" He looked up, helplessly, and he knew that his own vulnerability was shining bright on his face, almost aching. He'd said those words before, and if Will was being truthful with himself, he'd meant them then, too. 

Hannibal's face was unreadable, but after a moment he tilted his head slightly and made a sound low in his throat. He didn't say anything, but he slowly raised his hand and held it out to Will. His eyes never left his face, and Will felt something in his stomach clench.

This was it.

This was the moment, oddly enough, where there was no turning back. It wasn't when they'd killed together.

It wasn't when they'd fallen.

It wasn't even when he'd had breakfast this morning...

It was now.

His breath came out in a trembling sigh, and he stepped forward with a body that was shivering violently enough that he knew they could _both_ see it.

The fingers that closed around his own were warm and smooth.

As they interlocked, Hannibal _smiled._


End file.
